Everyone Else Is Doing It
by Lack of Tact
Summary: Happiness, er... yeah, let's just say it's not common. What with me being in so much debt; a shitty apartment; police searches basically whenever. Not at all, actually. I do have one escape, however: Visual Novels. Yeah, I'm that kind of guy. Having just finished a certain one though, something happens. Something I'm not too sure whether or not I want to believe — Rated T - M


**(Short top A/N: Chapter 5 to "Everyone Else Is Doing It?" featuring Yuri has been updated; it's longer now, so... yeah. Anyway.)**

**Day 1, Part 1**

**Prologue (1/2): Not Everyday Happenings**

* * *

With a sigh, I lean back against my bed. Cigarette ash tumbles down my chest and I simply brush it away with the underside of my forearm. I raise my left hand, bringing the portable chimney to my lips and inhale; the smoke is coarse, stinging all the way through to my lungs, and I exhale. Staring at the screen for a couple more seconds, I drop my head back and groan in contempt.

What else can I do? There's nothing—jack, squat, fuck-all that can be done in this situation. It's the same thing over and over and I expect something different? Did I ever tell you about the definition of insanity? That, that right there is the perfect label for this stupid fucking conundrum. Me, staring at the same fucking screen, the same fucking text, the same fucking... fuck! _'Doki Doki Literature Club',_ a great—fucking stupid—game birthed from the mind of one Dan Salvato; a man I never met, and if I did, I'd sock him one. See, the game itself is fantastic. It's the endings or rather the _immense_ lack thereof that pisses me off to this day. Still hung up over this overly cute, overly dark visual novel.

Still on my bed, laptop on lap. Still looping through the _same_ scenes I've seen over and over and—as I've said, it is the _literal_ definition of insanity. I expect something different each time: maybe I'll discover a secret ending? Maybe Dan might release some weird-ass DLC for DDLC? Maybe, oh, I don't know, I can _actually_ save my favourite cinnamon bun?! But I can't. I never could. And I never will be able to. The game runs from a script, the whole thing does. And just like all of the previous times, the script is coming to a close. With the ever heartfelt _"We love you, Weyland," _spoken by none other than Sayori, the screen fades to a monotonous black.

And I am left just as empty as ever.

It is a common occurrence to hear the odd sound of skin smacking against skin in this apartment complex. Not sexual like—there are cases, but this isn't one of them. No, but the sound of utter, palpable disappointment. Yeah, I'm talking _'Palms, meet Face. Face, Palms'._ They're well-acquainted at this point. Looking through my fingers, I stare as the credits scroll on by. Happy photos of each of the characters, sans one. Her voice, Monika's voice, sings to me her sad song of one-sided love. I'm lulled by her, almost. My hands lower and I ignore the passing images, instead just focusing on her tune. No, she isn't my favourite character; least, if I'm honest. But I do feel for her.

One-sided love, after all, I've fallen prey to as well.

As her mirthless song comes to an end, I place my hand on the touchpad and begin the process all over. Again. Pulling the game from full-screen, I go over to my save file and delete it. And again. Reopening the game's .exe file, I stare at the all too familiar _'Please enter your name'_ tab. And again... A vicious cycle of sameness I've yet to break. "Fuck me," I mumble under my breath, placing my cigarette in between my lips. I grab at the laptop with my free hand and move to sit up. One more tread through Act 1 before breakfast? Yeah, I can do it.

**[Please enter your name]**

**Weyl_**

**OK**

I stop myself halfway from using my normal character's name; something felt off about looking at it. It's strange, right? Weyland, my usual MC's name, and I feel wrong looking at it right now. I _must _be playing this too much if that's the case. Well, what else can I use? _Don't want to use Alex again or Dean for the matter... maybe I_—I stop for a moment. Quickly typing in a name, I hold my breath, staring as it stared back.

**[Please enter your name}**

**Beck Foster**

**OK**

Staring at the 'OK' button longer than I stared at the tab itself, I contemplate. Do I _really_ want to use my own name? Am I _that _sad of a person to do so? Do I... do I really want to immerse myself into a world where happiness doesn't exist? I grind my teeth together in thought, ignoring the taste of saliva mixing itself with the grainy feel of tobacco. I grab at my cigarette, dangling between my lips, and exhale.

Fuck it.

I click 'OK' to move on, but find myself unable to. To my surprise, the game doesn't start; I'm not treated to a view of the usual neighbourhood or even Sayori's typical introduction. Instead, something else. I force myself to blink a couple of times. An almost spine-chilling sensation fills me as I look at a new tab I haven't seen pop up before. In bewilderment, my hand moves away from the touchpad and I just continue to stare, in silence.

**Beck?**

**OK**

The game has _never_ asked me if I was sure about my name choice—and it certainly doesn't look right, to boot. Even though I just saw it, I could have sworn I put my surname in there as well. Maybe I'm just tired, I _have _been up all night, after all. I shake my head. Fuck, I'm just gonna go eat first. I'll hold off on clicking 'OK', because this is too weird. I couldn't have downloaded an update, I don't have an internet connection here... maybe I leeched off of McDonald's wifi without knowing last time I went?

Bah, just thinking about the fast-food joint makes me even more hungry. I grab my laptop and place it on my bed, screen facing the wall. Moving to stand up, I put the strangeness of the unexpected tab in the back of my mind. I'll make heads or tails of it later. For now?

What's it gonna be today, Beck? Eggs or panc-_oh,_ wait! I forgot I had something saved just for today, hell yeah!

**. . . . .**

_'Doki Doki Literature Club'_ is a game about romance, deceit, and lurking horror. Not a complete 180°—but close enough—from every other VN I've played, and I've played a-plenty. Designed to lure people not unlike me in its trap; it takes the player for a ride. Cute shit, emotions, stupid fucking poem segments, and just the most adorable _and_ annoying cast of characters ever. And like other people, I fell for the fucking bait. Everything beyond the first Act, that's the real meat to the game's stew. Granted, in my opinion, there's no point in continuing past it, but still. It's there where shit hits the ever metaphorical fan: Sayori, regardless of every choice you and I have made, dies. Death by hanging. Natsuki, still don't rightly know what happens to her. Probably deleted if I'm honest. Yuri, a suicidal 'yandere' if I'd ever seen one—which I haven't, this is the real world. Get this, she offs herself regardless of if you accept or reject her feelings. Seriously, either does her in.

Fucking weird, right?

Now, the last character, Monika? She's at the heart of this entire game. That one perfectly seasoned bit of steak floating in that stew. Well, supposedly anyhow. Like I said, least favourite character. Especially for doing what she'd done to the rest of the Literature Club. Anyhow, point is, she's the... well, I guess you could say the main character in this game? Main antagonist? I don't know, but she's something alright. It's because of her—scripted of course, but it's because of her that Sayori and everyone else basically dies. Not cool, you know?

If Dan had just gone and made a regular fucking VN, maybe I would have liked her a bit more. That, however, was not the case. Instead, as mentioned before, we all got _'Doki Doki Homicide/Suicide Club',_ and it's a headache and a half. Though, I have heard there are mods out there for this game... maybe those can potentially redeem her? Honestly, fuck if I know. I just want to get back to eating and ignore the fact I just had an internal debate on a goddamn video game of all things. I sigh and shake my head, holding my fork just over the freshly microwaved meal. My mouth waters again and I realize:

I can't wait.

I plunge that fucking fork so hard into the matter and begin to mow-down. Chewing, I shudder with a quivering grin. Swallowing, I bite my lower lip. Exhaling, I lick the outer sides of my teeth and I almost moan due to the taste. I am _so_ glad I kept some of that leftover broccoli-beef stir fry. _Thanks, Jane, ya really saved my ass._ Just the distraction I needed to get my mind off of that stupid VN. I owe you one, girl. Taking another bite, I savour the restless taste of salted veggies and meat; the hint of soy sauce melting into the confines of my mouth. God, I could eat this forever.

Sadly, even I knew this to be an impossibility. Soon enough, I find the plastic tupperware empty, devoid of all contents save for excess sauce and other various particles. Soon enough, I'm back to being miserable again. Another "fuck me" leaves my lips as I lick away whatever remnants of the meal remained. I give a dismissive sigh and place the fork inside of the container, staring into its foodless void. With a wipe of a pseudo-tear from my eye, I push my chair back from the two-person table.

I'd upgrade, but I don't really have the room for a bigger one. Not like I'm expecting any visitors, anyway. The only spot it could fit properly is right behind my beat-up couch. Anything larger, and I might have to get rid of that musty old thing. I shake my head, turning off my mental distractions as I grab the container. If only, right? If only I could afford a bigger place... pfft. As if.

I'm already mooching off of her for too much as it is. I sigh, push my chair back under the table, and toss the tupperware into the sink without care. Staring into the rusted crevice, I plant my hands against the counter, mumbling under my breath. "Hey, God. If you're listening or if you're even really there..." I start, my eyes drifting to the ceiling— to the imaginary sky above me. "If-even if I end up back in the alleys, take care of her, will ya? I-yeah, I know, I'm not one to talk with you much, if ever, really, but just this one favour? She's been taking real good care of me after the fallout with my family and-and I'd hate to see something awful happen to her."

I shake my head with gritted teeth.

"Sure, she's a bit brash—honestly has the worst lack of tact I've ever seen in anyone, but she's got a good head on her shoulders. She can use the break, what with keeping me up top and all. Hell, I could use one too. If I can land this job, she won't need to help me out anymore!" I clamp my eyes shut, my knuckles tightening involuntarily against the edges of the countertop, struggling to fight back burning hot tears. I'm really choked up about this, aren't I? With a breath in and a breath out, I loosen my grip. A low sigh escapes me and I stare upward again. "God, all I'm asking... just give us a break, please?"

I just want to get out of this hell I seem so perpetually stuck in. But I don't want to drag Jane down with me if I can help it. I release my hold from the counter and take a step back; another sigh leaves my lips. I'll wash the container later. Give it back to her the next time I see her. "Amen," I mutter under my breath, looking away from the sink's contents. My vision casts itself over to a photo on the end table next to my couch: her and me, standing in a dirtier version of this place. The day I moved in here. My smile then is face-splitting almost, I was so happy.

_Am_ so happy. Without her, I'd still be... _there._ A place I never want to be again. A place I'm likely to end up once more if things don't turn out for me. I give a halfhearted, almost lazy grin as I remain in remembrance of that day. No one would believe it, but she saved my life. She really did.

My eyes divert from the photo for all of a second before a muted crash of blankets sounds from upstairs—not too surprising that I can hear it, honestly. These walls of mine are practically paper-thin. It is startling, however, that there appears to have been yet another break-in. Just like last week. And the week before that. I lean my head back and groan to myself. Wonder if they tried jumping from the window to the bed, this time? Would explain why it was definitely quieter; any less noise, and I'm sure I wouldn't have heard it in the first place. With a purse of my lips, I begin to pull at my phone from my pocket, mumbling. "Y'know, I said a break, not a break-_in."_

Gripping the phone in my dominant hand, left—surprise, surprise, right?—I move my body in front of the staircase, the one leading to my room. I stare silently, expecting someone to come down with a weapon of sorts. It happens, I'm kind of used to it at this point. When no one is sprinting down the stairs, screaming bloody murder, I figure I got the jump on them. "Alright, you fuckin' tweak! I've had it up to here with you, and I'm calling the police!" I shout up the stairwell but receive no verbal response. Well, kind of?

Someone's grunting, struggling with something in my room. That's a tad odd, seeing as how nothing I own is bolted down. Whoever they are could quite literally take off with anything of mine and I'd be at fault. I plant my foot on the first step, phone-hand preemptively typing in the same three digits I've gotten so used to dialling. A foot on the second, and I stop. What am I doing? I'm going to get myself killed if I go up there! A third step up and I swallow a lump that was beginning to form in my throat.

The fourth step and I freeze entirely. Not for my own thoughts, no, but, well... whoever's up there is talking. "... not to be rude, but by any chance could you come up here and help me out? I am... I seem to be stuck between a wall and a hard place right now." To me.

Tentatively, I pocket my cellphone once more and take a careful step upwards. I _really_ hope this isn't some inane ploy to bait me up there and murder me to death. That'd be a sad way to go. I can imagine my epitaph already: _'Beck Williams Foster, the fucking idiot that helped assisted a breaking-and-entering. In his own home. Fucking idiot.'_ Don't know where I'd get the money to pay for so many characters, but still, it'd be a laugh. I shake my head, directing my attention to the situation at hand. No time for jokes, just go on up and get your phone ready if you have to.

Solid plan. Here's to hoping it doesn't involve my death.

With a low exhale, I make my way up the rest of the stairs, fully expecting my coming demise. "Just, y'know, don't kill me!" Here's hoping that argument won them over. Pfft, as if.

**. . . . .**

I stare at the brunette—at the _half_ of a brunette on my bed. Yeah, that's right, I said half. As in the _other fucking half is in my computer screen!_ Blankets strewn around her, her torso, just barely out of the small monitor is splayed against the wall. It's almost humorous. Scary as fuck, but almost humorous. Alongside some of her hair, a blazer covers her shoulders, one I'm a little too familiar with. The giant white bow she sports falls along her back as with her incredibly lengthy brown hair. Her shoulders, in general, are just out of the screen, but with very little wiggle room, the rest of her arms don't look like they'll be coming out anytime soon. Definitely stuck, as she'd said.

Her face-her face is planted in my wall. Yep.

Slowly, her head turns and begins to face me. Green eyes meet brown in a silent staring contest—I lost, by the way—and a minute of silence passes us both. Her eyes taking in the entirety of my being is the probable cause as to why we're not speaking. Also, again, scared as fuck, so there really isn't much I can say here. Luckily for me, I learned early in life that it's better to keep quiet in situations like this. Finally, after a few more moments of noiseless staring, a large, almost toothy grin breaks across her face.

"You are just as beautiful as I imagined... Beck." Her face takes on an odd look as she tests the name that ran off of her tongue, but it's short-lived as she smiles again after. "Your name... _you,_ the real you. Not Weyland, but... _Beck."_ She sighs dreamily, completely forgetting her current predicament.

I tell her to pause mutedly with my index finger before I speak.

"Hol' the fuck up."

* * *

**Ahaha! Now _there's_ a totally-not-a-cliche 'Monika enters reality' prologue! I'm kidding, it's cliche as fuck by now seeing as to how I've done four of them at this point. Jesus, I need a life.**

**Again, I'm kidding. I have one, that's why it takes me a fat minute to upload or edit. Do spend what I can on you guys, though! Well, _when_ I can as well. Anyway, yeah, as mentioned in one of the other "Everyone Else" stories, this one, er... well this one is definitely going to play out drastically different than how I have the other ones planned. Lemme give you a couple hints:**

**Everyone Else Is Doing It!: Janice Grey; the manipulative ex.**

**Everyone Else Is Doing It?: Janice Grey; the homewrecker.**

**Everyone Else Is Doing It, Idiot: Janice Grey; the ex-lover, now a close friend.**

**Think about it. As each entry to the series published after the other, Janice's personality seems to have been changing for the better. What could she be to this variation of Beck? Well, shouldn't be too hard to figure out. I know Monikammmmmm isn't going to be too pleased lmfao.**

**As per usual, if there are any mistakes, feel free to point them out! I'll gladly fix this shit for you guys!**

**Anyway, that's that for, er, _that?_ As usual, you're all the best and I hope you continue to enjoy!**


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